


Catching Breath

by just_another_outcast



Series: the scenes we deserve (episode tags) [17]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: AU Episode Tag, Angst, Episode: s01e17 Stranger Beside You, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Papa Gil, Sort Of, Stabbing, Strangulation, but not really Eve negative either, coda to 1x17, not Eve positive, tag to 1x17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/pseuds/just_another_outcast
Summary: Malcolm hasn't had a very good day, and a man with a box cutter, intent on strangling him, is just making it worse.(AU tag to 1x17, Stranger Beside You)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: the scenes we deserve (episode tags) [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782832
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Catching Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This ep could've been a lot whumpier, so obviously that's what I had to do. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!!!

There had been many days throughout Malcolm's life when he thought that maybe it was the worst day ever. There were just as many days when he thought that maybe he was about to die. These sets of days didn't always coincide. Often, Malcolm would think he might be about to lose his life, then later recall the day as not being that bad. It took more than a near death experience for him to jot a day down as a contender for worst day ever.

This day was definitely up there.

Malcolm could only hope that Alessa had gotten the baby to safety, and that Lucas would never find them. Malcolm himself certainly wouldn't be around to stop him once the man finished strangling him.

He grappled madly for the box cutter, since he was getting nowhere with trying to dislodge the man. Lucas was on top of him, pinning Malcolm down with his knees and putting the rest of his weight onto Malcolm's throat with his hands, tightly wrapped around and squeezing with all of his might. Malcolm choked and bucked and gagged and fought desperately against the much larger man, but to no avail. Lucas was holding him at too much of a distance for Malcolm to successfully poke out one of the man's eyes or strangle him back, and no matter how hard his legs flailed, the man would not be moved.

The box cutter was just out of reach for Malcolm, but Lucas, with his longer arms, was tragically able to reach it just fine. Malcolm hoped he would be able to retake the fight when the man switched to strangling him with only one hand instead of the two, but the lack of oxygen was devastatingly weakening, and Lucas was faster. The man was able to swiftly grab the box cutter, retain a crushing grip on Malcolm's throat, and bring the box cutter almost down to his chest before Malcolm was able to bring his left arm up to stop him. He cried out as the box cutter struck a glancing blow off his forearm, but Lucas wasn't done. The man practically growled with rage and struck again, this time with Malcolm managing to grab Lucas' wrist to stop him. Malcolm stopped trying to pry the man's other hand off his throat and brought both hands to his wrist, using all of the strength he had left to stop the box cutter from striking his heart.

Lucas' strength was thoroughly divided - his lower body keeping Malcolm from escaping, one hand clenching Malcolm's throat, and the other boring down on him with a box cutter - but everyone knows the phrase, 'divide and conquer'. Lucas shifted his grip on Malcolm's neck and bore straight down on his trachea. Malcolm panicked, the intense pain and pressure and fear and lack of oxygen telling him that he was about to die giving him once last burst of adrenaline to try and save his own life. His wild thrashing brought Lucas' hand - and therefore the box cutter - away from his heart, but up to the junction of his neck and shoulder, and straight inward.

Malcolm would've screamed if he had any oxygen left with which to do so. Lucas dug the box cutter as deep as he could, all of the blade and some of the handle burying itself in his flesh. But at least that meant that Lucas let up on Malcolm's trachea just before he snapped it.

He could feel the tears streaming out of his eyes and into his hair, both from the pain and a lack of oxygen, but soon those tears would be joined by those of his team. Malcolm was going to die, probably from strangulation, but the blood loss wasn't going to help. His team was going to find him there, dead, and an ocean of Gil's tears would pour out over his body. The man would find Lucas and end him, probably very painfully, then break down over Malcolm's body, holding him close as his body grew colder and colder, blood staining Gil's soft sweaters that Malcolm loved so much.

Then all at once, the pressure was gone, but Malcolm was still sure that he was dying. He was still gagging and choking, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. He could feel blood streaming down his arm from the gash Lucas had left there. The box cutter was gone, pulled out of his shoulder by the force of whatever had pushed Lucas off him, but Malcolm could still feel it grinding against his muscle and bone. The blade must have broke off in his flesh.

Vaguely, he could hear the sound of something crunching, like a whole carton of eggs being smashed, but much louder. Through his tear filled eyes, Malcolm turned to see Alessa kneeling over Lucas, the orb in her hand, hitting Lucas in the head with it, over and over and over again. He tried to tell her to stop, that it was over, but he couldn't speak without getting his breath back first. Alessa just kept hitting him, blood and bone and brain matter spattering across the floor, across the room, onto Malcolm and everything else around him. The man was certainly dead.

"Get...Nina," Malcolm managed to say, his voice scratchy and weak. He could just barely breathe again, but his throat was still so tight. It wasn't anaphylactic shock, obviously, but Malcolm couldn't help but wonder if the feeling was the same, if that tightness he felt was similar.

The disgusting crunching sound stopped, and something heavy fell to the floor with a thud, rolling away.

"Nina," Alessa breathed out, getting up and running out of Malcolm's view. He didn't try to get up and see where she was going. Malcolm was focused more on breathing. He knew he needed to get to a hospital. His shoulder, no matter how agonizing the pain was, wouldn't be life threatening unless he knew he wasn't going to get any sort of medical treatment, and his arm would be fine after a few stitches. Malcolm was more concerned about his throat. Yes, he could just barely breathe again, but for how long? It might swell in a misguided attempt by his body to heal itself.

The doors burst open to the side, but Malcolm didn't have it in him to look and see what was going on. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Bright!" Gil called out. The man quickly appeared in his field of view, kneeling by his side. "Oh, kid, what happened?" Gil put his hands over the wound on Malcolm's upper shoulder, and Malcolm saw white.

He screamed, a blood-curdling, gutwrenching sound that Malcolm was sure rivaled his scream from when he broke his own hand. Only this time, people were around to hear it.

"Stop! Please!" he begged. Luckily, Gil immediately removed his hands, a panicked look on his face. Something was wrong. It hurt too much to be pain normal with putting pressure on a stab wound. The blade definitely had broken off inside him. "Still...in me," he whimpered, clutching Gil's arm.

"Boss, stop!" JT shouted. "Look at this." Malcolm could only assume that he was holding up the broken box cutter. "The blade is still buried in his shoulder."

"Damn it, kid," Gil muttered. "You can't do anything halfway, can you?" The man shook his head and sighed, but the look in his eyes betrayed his fear. "But you're gonna be okay. JT is calling a bus right now."

"Alessa, Nina," Malcolm said.

"They're okay," Gil assured him. "They're both okay." Malcolm just nodded as much as the pain in his throat and shoulder would allow. "Lucas is dead, he's not hurting anyone else."

"You're gonna be alright, bro," JT added, coming into Malcolm's field of view. "A bus is on it's way. You just focus on breathing."

Malcolm wondered if they could see redness around his neck already, and thus knew that his breathing was compromised, or if the plea was more instinctual, born of a panic that Malcolm might die. Likely, it was a mixture of both, since only his shoulder wound shouldn't have been too worrisome, at least not to JT. Gil was a little more likely to inflate the wound into something more than it was.

"'M okay," Malcolm breathed out, trying to give Gil a little bit of reassurance, even though he didn't feel it. He didn't feel okay at all. He could barely breathe, his shoulder was on fire, and to top it all off, Eve had been lying to him and using him that whole time. Was any of it real? Had she really only been using him for information and sex? He was so far from okay. Even as he tried to claim that he was fine, Malcolm could feel more tears sliding down into his hair.

"I've got you, kid," Gil said. Malcolm could feel a hand covering his, and he immediately latched onto it.

"Is he gonna be okay?" asked a voice from across the room. Oh yeah. Alessa was still there. Alessa had killed Lucas. Maternal instinct was a crazy thing.

"Once a bus gets here, yeah," Gil responded. "JT is on his way to lead them in now."

JT had left? Malcolm hadn't even noticed. Because of the blood loss? The pain? Focusing too much on each passing breath? Wait, no, that one was important. He needed to focus on breathing.

"Right over here," JT called out from the doors that he and Gil had burst in through. Two EMTs quickly came into his field of view, making Malcolm realize that he hadn't moved from his place on the floor where Lucas had tackled him.

"What happened?" a gruff voiced asked.

"He was stabbed, and the blade is stuck inside the wound," Gil answered, his voice much steadier than Malcolm would've thought it could be, based on the way he was looking at Malcolm with such fear in his eyes.

"Strangled," Malcolm added. He didn't want to say anything else. His throat ached. Each breath was agony, but talking was pure torture.

He kept holding on to Gil's hand, even as the man was forced to the side in order to give the EMTs room to work. They clearly didn't even like having Gil in the way at all, but Malcolm wasn't about to let go. His grip on Gil's hand was iron, and he was not about to be separated from the man. This was officially one of the worst days of his life. Malcolm was pretty sure he was entitled to want to hold his dad's hand - at least, the hand of the man who he considered to be his real dad.

The moment one of the EMTs pressed down on his wound at all, Malcolm let out a strangled yelp, squeezing Gil's hand even harder and fighting to stay conscious.

"I see it in there," the EMT with the gruff voice said. "We'll get it out at the hospital. Keep monitoring his breathing. That's the biggest concern."

An agony filled minute later, Malcolm was loaded onto the ambulance, Gil still right by his side.

"JT, you've got everything?" he confirmed from the back of the ambulance.

"Sure thing, boss. Keep me updated," JT affirmed.

Gil held his hand the whole way to the hospital, and all way the into the trauma center. Malcolm was in too much pain to be embarrassed by that.

"It's probably best that we anesthetize for the procedure," the doctor said.

Malcolm whimpered. He hated anesthesia. He hated waking up groggy and not knowing where he was or how long it had been. He hated not knowing what had happened, and he hated the slim chance that he could dream and not be able to wake up. Anesthesia was better than normal sedatives, but Malcolm hated risking it.

"You don't wanna be awake while they dig around for the blade," Gil insisted. He knelt by Malcolm's head, still holding his hand. "You're gonna be okay, and I'm gonna be right here when you wake up."

Finally, Malcolm nodded. If nothing else, he didn't want to force Gil to listen to him scream as they dug around for the blade and pulled it out, so he would accept the anesthesia.

He still flinched when the IV went in, his heartbeat escalating rapidly with his fear.

"You're okay, I'm right here," Gil reminded him. "Just look right at me, I'm right here." Malcolm focused on the man's words as everything else started to fade around him. Gil was right there, and everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay...

...

Gil had been filled with white hot rage the moment he and JT stormed into that storeroom. His kid was on the floor, blood was slowly pooling around the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he was gasping for breath, like he couldn't breathe. Gil's heart shattered into a million tiny pieces when the kid let out this crushing scream and begged him to stop putting pressure on the wound. He had done all he could do, just held his hand and told him that everything was going to be okay, even though he wanted to bash Lucas' head in a few more times, just for good measure, when he saw the red marks around his kid's throat. Those marks, combined with the kid's voice and his labored breathing, told Gil all that he needed to know. Malcolm had been strangled.

That's what Gil thought of more than anything else while he waited for Malcolm to wake up. Every time he closed his eyes, that was all he could see: his kid flat on his back, the much larger man on top of him, his giant meaty hands wrapped around Malcolm's poor throat, squeezing with everything he had, Malcolm thrashing with all his mind to try to stay alive as the pain and pressure built.

Gil took a deep breath. Malcolm was okay, and that was all that mattered. His kid had survived, and he was going to be just fine, even if he was going to have two more scars and hand shaped bruising around his throat. Besides, the image in his mind was fabricated. By the time that he and JT had gotten there, Lucas was already dead.

Malcolm was lying on the hospital bed. The sheets, combined with the contrast of the bruising around his throat, made the kid seem even more pale. The stark white bandages around the top of his shoulder stuck out from under the hospital gown, another bandage wrapped around a deep gash on his forearm that his dark suit had hidden from view, and a nasal cannula was still hooked around his lax face. The doctors had assured Gil that Malcolm was going to recover perfectly fine, but they wanted to keep him overnight for observation, just in case his throat began to swell. Apparently there had been some damage to his trachea, and the kid was lucky that it hadn't snapped.

Once again, Gil wanted to go back and kill Lucas Gerard for what the man had done. Maybe it was a good thing that Alessa had killed him first. She wouldn't face any charges, obviously, but really, it was a shame that Lucas was dead. Had he lived, he would've faced charges for murder, attempted murder, and a plethora of assaults. The man would've spent the rest of his miserable life in prison had Alessa not bludgeoned him to death.

But Malcolm was going to be okay, and that was all that mattered. That came before everything.

A groan from the kid stole Gil's attention. He swiftly took the kid's hand in his own once again, and got closer to him. Slowly, Malcolm's eyes fluttered open, the blue of his eyes still shining in the low light.

"Hey, kid," he greeted, forcing a smile that he knew wasn't reaching his eyes. Malcolm let out a small sigh and looked up to the ceiling as tears formed in his eyes. Was he in pain? Coming out from the anesthesia, he shouldn't feel much of anything. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

Malcolm shook his head side to side, almost indiscernibly, as a few tears began to slide out from his eyes and down into his hairline. It was all too similar to how he had been crying back at the storeroom.

"Today really sucked," he said, his voice scratchy. It sounded painful.

Gil wasn't sure how to respond. Anesthesia had always made Malcolm especially emotional, but it usually took more than a near death experience for him to consider a day to be a bad one. Something else had to have happened. Gil just held his hand a little tighter and lightly rubbed his arm.

Malcolm continued, saying, "There's something wrong with me." There was more than physical pain in his voice. He sounded so broken and defeated, and it broke Gil's heart. "She was just using me. She didn't really care. Everything was about what she could get out of me. Just for information, for physical intimacy. She didn't care about me."

If it was even possible, Gil's heart broke even more. The kid had to be talking about Eve. Gil had had his reservations about her, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt since she had been making Malcolm so happy ever since coming back into his life. Apparently he should've been more concerned.

"Oh, kid," he muttered. "I'm so sorry she didn't turn out to be who she said she was, but that doesn't have anything to do with you. There is nothing wrong with you," he insisted. Gil could understand the grief the kid would feel at this betrayal, and couldn't stop Malcolm from feeling that grief, but he couldn't let the kid believe that the betrayal meant that there was anything wrong with him.

"I should've known," Malcolm replied. He closed his eyes against the tears, squeezing them shut and turning his head against the pillow. "It's my job to know."

Gil began carding his fingers through the kid's hair as tears sprung into his own eyes. He wished he could take all of Malcolm's pain onto himself. He would do anything to take the kid's suffering from him. Malcolm didn't deserve it. That kid was all too often saddled with pain that he couldn't take on his shoulders.

"Not on this," Gil said. "Relationships are different, and this is not your fault. I don't have to remind you how manipulators operate." He hated to group Eve into the same category as the kid's father, but he didn't know anything about the woman other than that she hurt his kid, and for the moment, that was all that mattered.

"I'm so tired, Gil," Malcolm practically whimpered. Gil wanted to gather the kid up in his arms and hold him forever, to keep him safe from everyone that seemed to seek to hurt him. Instead, he wiped the tears from his kid's eyes and just sat there with him, since he couldn't exactly climb into the kid's hospital bed and let Malcolm curl up against him, no matter how much he may have wanted to - if it weren't for the kid's shoulder wound, he would've seriously considered it. He shifted his grip on the kid's hand, letting Malcolm hold it as tightly as he wished.

"I know, kid," he replied, trying his best to keep his own voice steady. There was no way that he would be able to successfully stop Malcolm's tears if he broke down himself. "And I'm so sorry."

There wasn't anything that Gil could say that would help, and they both knew it. But that didn't mean that Gil was just going to sit there and let Malcolm cry. He was going to be right there to hold him as best he could, and remind him that he wasn't alone.

Eventually, Malcolm fell back asleep, facing Gil. Even after he was out, Gil continued to run his fingers through the kid's hair in calming ministrations. He would do that forever if it meant the kid slept better. Surely there would be new nightmares brought on by Eve and being both stabbed and strangled. Gil would be there to hold him through them all.

He cringed again at the thought of his kid getting strangled. Gil knew he would be reminded of it again and again, every time he saw the kid, for the next two weeks at least. Those handprints on his throat wouldn't be going away any time soon, and Malcolm wasn't one for turtlenecks that would cover them. Everyone was going to see them. People on the street would stare, officers and detectives in the precinct would talk behind his back, and the kid himself would see them every time he looked in the mirror. Gil was going to have to do damage control. He couldn't do anything about people on the street, but he would be extra vigilant about the precinct, and make sure that anyone who even breathed the wrong way in Malcolm's direction was reprimanded. The kid got those bruises while saving a woman and her baby. He deserved to be praised, not mocked. But Malcolm always did get the short end of the stick, and Gil was sure that this would be no different.

When Gil closed his eyes, the strangulation was all he could see, so he resolved to stay up all night, and without coffee. He would have to get up in order to get the coffee, and he didn't want to leave Malcolm alone, not even for a moment.

"I'm right here, kid," Gil muttered. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

He did stay there all night, but not awake. About an hour later, Gil fell asleep, his head next to Malcolm's arm, the kid's hand still in his own. When the doctor came in in the morning, he worked around them. He'd seen plenty of dad's come in with their injured sons, but this pair just seemed like something extra special. He would let them sleep. They clearly needed it.


End file.
